It feels like the world around Sizhui fades away as he watches, wide-eyed, at the shambling corpses dragging their way out of the bloody pool in the back of the cave. They stumble and lurch and almost topple over, and as the other cultivators flinch back in fear, Sizhui stands still, frozen in place.
Because—
He knows these people. He’s sure of it. He recognizes the man with a slightly swisted spine, the woman with a tilt in her head, the elder with a hunched back. They are achingly familiar and bring back hazy memories of laughter and dirt and lullabies, and he has no idea who these people are.
”Sizhui!” Jingyi hisses, trying frantically to yank him back as the elder pauses next to him and cocks their head.
Sizhui ignores him and takes a half-step forward. Somehow, he’s certain that these people, and especially this elder, won’t hurt him. Despite their gruesome appearance, despite the thick, viscous blood that covers them and the fact that many have gaping holes in their torsos or their heads bashed in, all Sizhui can feel is sorrow and loss.
The elder opens their mouth, trying to say something, but nothing other than gurgling comes out. Sizhui leans subtly closer to hear better and blinks when the elder reaches out one knobbly hand and cups his face. Somewhere behind him, Jingyi is letting out high-pitched, alarmed sounds, but Sizhui doesn’t pay attention to him.
I know you, he wants to whisper. Who are you?
The moment stretches, sticky and sweet like honey, the sounds of fighting a distant murmur that doesn’t concern them. Suddenly, the elder swirls around and attacks the fierce corpse that was trying to sneak up on him, and all Sizhui wants is to draw them back, to have that withered hand cup his face once more.
He tries to keep an eye on them, but the cave is dim and the number of bloody corpses and fierce corpses confuses him. On one side of the cave, he sees Senior Wei and Hanguang-jun with the Ghost General; on the other side, a group of cultivators (mostly juniors), too shocked to flee the scene. They don’t need to do anything as the blood corpses do the work for them, tearing down the fierce corpses with ferocity that to Sizhui feels almost wrong.
And then it’s over. The fighting ceases, and the only corpses left standing are the bloody ones, silent and still. Senior Wei falls on his knees and thanks them with tears in his eye, commanding the corpses’ attention.
Except for one.
The familiar elder totters to Sizhui and reaches out one more time. They don’t cup his cheek now, but tap his nose once instead, somehow giving the feeling of smiling even when covered in blood and with half of their skull caved in.
”Thank you,” Sizhui whispers, lost.
A collective sigh goes through the blood corpses, and then they crumple, dissolving into reddish ash.
”No!” the Ghost General cries out. ”No! Please, Granny, Uncle Four—” He falls on his knees, desperately gathering the ash into the skirt of his robe.
Sizhui doesn’t even think. He rummages his sleeve for a qiankun pouch, empties the contents hastily into a completely bewildered Jingyi’s hands, and hurries to the Ghost General’s side.
”Here, use this,” he says, holding out the pouch. ”I’ll help you!”
He bends down to scoop up the ash but manages only a couple of handfuls until Senior Wei gently tells him to stop.
”You’ll get corpse poisoning,” he says, eyes still red and tear stains on his cheeks.
Sizhui wants to protest, but he knows Senior Wei is right. ”Who were they?”
Senior Wei’s smile is wistful and heartbreakingly sad. ”The Wen who just wanted to be left alone and who were slaughtered because they carried the name Wen. I think the one who singled you out was Granny.” He frowns. ”Huh. I wonder why she did that,” he murmurs.
Sizhui doesn’t know, either.
He thinks about the encounter on their boat ride to Yunmeng and listens greedily to the stories Wen Ning tells him on the pier. It also feels familiar, as does the way he calls Sizhui A-Yuan.
That night, when he finally falls asleep in Lotus Pier’s guest quarters, he dreams of a hunched old woman with white hair, kind eyes, and gentle hands that carded through his hair as she hummed a swaying lullaby he’s never heard since.